


Too Late

by Satine86



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stolen moment turns into a fight for their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Using Ismat Adaar, but not really canon for the "Adaar Family Adventures." I basically wrote this for lauranis on tumblr based off her headcanon and now we're both crying.

It was early, the air damp and cool, the sun barely a faint glow on the horizon. Ismat yawned and stretched inside his tent before clambering out of his bedroll and pulling on his boots. Quiet as he could, he crept out of his tent and into Dorian’s.

The mage was fast asleep, tucked tightly into his blankets and furs to ward off the cold, long lashes brushing against bronzed cheeks. Ismat grinned and reached out, shaking Dorian’s shoulder.

“Hmm?” Dorian hummed, and rolled away from the disturbance, nose twitching as he tried to settle himself again. Undeterred, Ismat prodded his shoulder again, more urgently. This was enough to finally rouse the mage.

He sucked in a deep breath and blinked several times to get the sleep out of his eyes. Propping himself up on his elbow, he scratched his jaw and looked up at Ismat incredulously.

“I hope you have a very good reason for waking me this early, Inquisitor.”

“I thought we might steal a moment before we pack up camp.”

Dorian’s face went from mildly annoyed to downright wicked in the space of one, fluttering heartbeat. “Why, Inquisitor,” he drawled, “how shocking!”

Ismat felt his face warm as Dorian reached out a hand, sliding it up his arm. The thought was very appealing, but it wasn’t the thought he had originally had. He had wanted something more intimate, more personal. And much more private.

“No, I was thinking a walk. Alone?” He glanced away, clearing this throat. Dealing with these feelings was difficult, it wasn’t just a physical attraction… that was an element, sure, but it was more. So much more and it was terrifying and exhilarating, and if only he could properly explain that to Dorian without sounding like an ass.

Dorian’s brows creased and he leaned around Ismat to glance out the half-opened flap of his tent. “A walk outside? In the cold and dark?” His gaze swiveled back to Ismat’s. “Have you met me? I think I’d rather like to stay here where it’s warm… relatively. Or perhaps you could warm me up?” He waggled his eyebrows for effect.

Ismat was tempted to stay. To let things remain as they were between them, the teasing flirting and enjoyable physicality of it all. But he wanted more. He truly did, and he wanted to explain that to Dorian. Without the fear of others hearing them.

“I was hop—”

“He was hoping to have a deep discussion about your relationship, now will you both please leave so I can sleep?” Bull’s booming voice sounded through the quiet of the camp, followed by some choice curse words and muttered threats.

“Ah,” Dorian breathed, eyes wide. Ismat felt his face flush more. “Well, I shall find my boots then.”

 

* * *

 

They walked for sometime in the faint early morning light, moving far from their camp and into the wooded area that peppered the Storm Coast. Mists rolled about their feet, creating an eery quiet that was only broken by the sound of Ismat’s heart thundering inside his chest.

“Alright, I believe we are well and truly alone. Now, you wished to…. talk?” Dorian had stopped and crossed his arms. His voice was light as always, but his face had twisted slightly, worry pinching the corners of his eyes.

“I, yes, talk….” Ismat rubbed the back of his neck and tried to collect his thoughts. Why was this so difficult?

He took a deep breath and tried again, “Dorian, I—” Ismat stopped short, head snapping up. “Did you hear that?” The area should’ve been clear, they’d spent the entirety of the day before sweeping and clearing the area of Red Templars.

Turning back he saw Dorian conjuring a flame in the palm of his hand, though he did not have his staff with him to fully focus the power. Ismat cursed himself for not bringing a weapon, but he had thought it safe. It should have been safe.

The Templars swarmed them in seconds, pressing down on them like a red tidal wave, their anger palpable in the crisp sea air. They tried to fend them off, to escape back to camp for their weapons and the rest of their party, but they had no chance against the numbers bearing down on them. Ismat struggled in vain before the world went dark, the last thing he saw was Dorian crumbling to the ground unconscious.

 

* * *

 

When Ismat came to, he found himself in a dank cave with chains biting in his wrists and ankles. He struggled against the restraints, hoping to tear them loose, but they held fast despite his efforts.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.” The voice that spoke was clipped, rough and acidic. It made Ismat’s skin crawl. The Templar came into view, his face haggard and worn, eyes permanently blood shot from red lyrium use.

Ismat realized there were more of them, hovering all about the cave. Templars that were no longer human, but hulking red beasts made of jagged lyrium, burning like a hateful fire. A few of them shifted, parting to reveal Dorian, chained and gagged.

Despite himself, Ismat pulled at his chains again and the Commander grinned. “Good the scout was correct, you do care for him. All the better.”

“Please, don’t do this. I’m the Inquisitor, I have the anchor. You want me. Take me.” Ismat opened his palm, revealing the green glow. “Let him go.”

The Templar Commander clicked his tongue, like he was chastising an unruly child. “Now, you know that won’t happen.”

Dorian was muttering spells, the words unintelligible past the cloth gagging him, but the intent was all the same. But nothing worked. Nothing changed.

“We know how to deal with mages,” the Commander said.

“Just let him go. I’ll go with you willingly, I’ll do whatever you want. Please just let Dorian go.” Ismat pleaded, but the Commander only laughed.

There was a glow in the darkness, different than the red lyrium or torches, a brand. Ismat and Dorian saw it as the same time, both struggling in earnest now.

“I told you, we know how to deal with mages.”

Ismat felt tears pricking his eyes as he glanced toward Dorian, his own eyes wild and frantic. “I love you Dorian. That’s what I wanted to say. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you. I love you.” The spilled from his lips like a mantra, he wanted Dorian and no one else but now he was in danger. What could he do?

Dorian’s eyes softened as he finally met Ismat’s gaze, his shoulders going slack. He mumbled something, but it wasn’t clear. He tried again, enunciating as clearly as he could past the gag.

“Amatus,” his voice carried across the cave to Ismat’s ears, and he felt his heart break. The tears finally spilled and he shut his eyes to fight the burning sting.

“Hold him,” the Commander ordered. A Templar came up behind Ismat, wrapping an arm around his neck to hold him in place. Two more came and held his horns, forcing him to watch in horror as the brand was passed toward the Commander.

“This is my fault. Dorian, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I loved you. This is my fault,” he gasped, choking on his tears.

Dorian shook his head sadly, his gaze held only forgiveness and love and then the brand loomed in close and he shut his eyes. As the brand made contact with his forehead, he screamed, face contorted in pain and then it went slack.

The Commander pulled the brand away and reached out to remove the gag. Dorian’s eyes fluttered open, and they were no longer bright, burning with intelligence and mischief. They were blank.

“How are you feeling, Master Pavus?” the Commander asked with barely suppressed glee.

“I am well, thank you for the inquiry.” Dorian’s voice was flat, barely recognizable.

“Dorian no,” Ismat’s voice cracked, his tears coming in earnest now. He had lost him. This was his fault. He had failed his love.

“Do not be upset,” Dorian said in that same monotone voice. It sent a chill down Ismat’s spine. “Everything is fine. I am in no danger.”

That was more than Ismat could take. Everything inside of him broke, shattering to pieces. The fear and anguish was replaced with a burning rage he could not contain. Everything was red.

He threw back his head, making contact with his capture’s face and earning a satisfying crunch as the Templar’s nose broke. He shook himself free of the others, and with a strength he did not know he possessed, Ismat yanked one of the chains free from its fastening.

He swung the length of chain over his head, whipping it out toward those nearest him. With a feral growl, he freed his other arm, and then his legs. In a matter of seconds he was in the middle of the Templars, attacking them with his bare hands, biting and kicking in the most savage way.

There were no thoughts, only the urge to kill. The Templars stood no chance against the raging Qunari, their screams echoing in the cave as the ground became slick with blood and gore. Ismat stalked to the Commander, cowering in a corner, he wanted the man dead, that much he knew. He also wanted him to suffer in the most agonizing ways possible.

Ismat took his time with the Commander, the man’s panicked and pained screams filling his ears as he tore the man apart like a primal beast, no longer himself. No longer the kind and gentle giant.

 

* * *

The sun was setting when Varric and Bull found them. They had been frantically searching all day for their friends. When they finally located the place they’d been held, they both stopped short at the mouth cave.

The stench of blood and death was choking, gore everywhere. Varric had to choke down his bile, and even Bull hesitated before entering.

“This was a massacre,” Varric breathed, lifting the collar of his jacket to cover his nose and mouth. Then he saw him. Sitting in the middle of the mutilated bodies, the brand on his forehead glowing a bright, angry red, was Dorian. His face empty, eyes unseeing.

“Maker no,” Varric mumbled and took a step forward, but one of the bodies moved and he realized it was not one of the Templars, but Ismat. He was soaked through with blood and his eyes were wild. He growled, low and feral, like a wild animal.

“You will not touch him.”

“Inquisitor… Ismat, it’s us.” Varric went to take another step forward, but Bull stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Varric glanced up, browns knitted in confusion. “We have to help them.”

“No,” Bull shook his head, eyes locked on Ismat’s form. He saw his own fears come to life, because the Qunari was no longer himself. He would never be himself again. “They’re gone; they’re both gone. We’re too late.”


End file.
